


The Days After

by 3x3



Category: Magisterium Series - Holly Black & Cassandra Clare
Genre: And he's starting to get illusions by this point, Call sits and stares into the distance-the fanfiction, Call's in jail, Gen, I don't know what I'm writing, Spoilers, so who else got their life ruined by the bronze key
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8286068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3x3/pseuds/3x3
Summary: Call is left with nothing but his own thoughts after Aaron died.And sometimes too much time can be a dangerous thing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I really didn't want to say this but I totally called it two books ago. I tried so hard to convince myself that Alex wouldn't be a bad guy because I genuinely like him? But alas...... well.  
> Anyways, like always, remember to drop a kudos or a comment if you like my story! I would really appreciate it!  
> Disclaimer (yes, okay I finally remember this) :I don't own the Magisterium series. If I did then Aaron would still be alive. (Maybe, no promises though.)

Something didn't sit right.

The light of the Alkahest was so dazzling, almost fascinating to Call. It's luring him in, like a fire to his moth. It's hard to imagine such brightness could be fatal.

The blade shone.

Call shut his eyes and faced the light.

 

 

He was waiting for death, but it never came.

 

 

He didn't trust his voice.

But that's okay, because he didn't feel like there would be much sound coming out from his throat any time soon.

 

 

His prison cell was such a small room. All walls and no window. It was magic proof, and nothing he tried did any damage.

Eventually Call gave up, and he backed up against the farther wall, opposite of the visiting door and the slot they used to deliver him food. Curling up into a defensive position, he didn't move. He listened to the buzzing sound of the guards outside, stared into nothingness, faded into a blank state of mind.

Maybe if he sat long enough, the world would cease to exist.

 

 

_At least we're going to die together._ he said.

Call wants to live.

Not anymore.

At least not physically, when he just glares at his low ceiling all day, because he's almost certain that Callum Hunt had already died when the Alkahest struck.

 

 

Maybe he's going insane.

 

 

Some days he felt like burning down the world. Trudging in the remaining ashes, ripping the earth in half. Some days he felt like just going with what everyone believed in. Some days he felt like giving up, becoming Constantine. Maybe it would be better because then, "Callum Hunt" would finally get his peace.

 

 

Some days he felt nothing at all.

 

 

Call finally understood Constantine. What he felt when Jericho died.

If he'd known sooner, would it have helped?

 

 

He thought back on the summer that felt like it was from another lifetime: of powder lemonades and self-made robots. Call wondered if Constantine and Jericho did that also, when they were boys, young and carefree and invincible.

 

 

Call looks into the darkness. It was quite like chaos, devouring light. With this sight, he might as well as be blind. Call looks into its depth and ponders upon if he's awake or asleep.

 

 

No matter what people thought. No matter how much of a monster Constantine had become, how many crazy experiments he did, how many people he had merciless slaughtered. Deep inside, under all that blood stained hands and hurt and pain and loss, he's still just human.

What's more, he's just a boy.

A boy who wanted his brother back.

Call wants Aaron back, and suddenly he's thankful that he was being locked up behind bars. He couldn't even start to imagine what he would do if he wasn't here, counting the cracks on the floor, tracing the jagged edges as if connecting sorrowful memories.

 

 

He doesn't know what he would do.

Probably hunt down Alex.

 

 

He knows what he would do. He would go to Joseph to learn more about souls and Chaos magic, so he could reach out to Aaron once more.

Call's thankful that he's locked. He's thankful of the barriers stopping him from trying anything.

 

 

Sometimes Call hears his voice: loud and bright and full of mirth and laughter. He sees his face: golden, radiant. He feels his name forming on his lips.

He doesn't say it.

He goes back to plain lying on the ground.

 

 

He's lost count of the days of his life. Or what's left of his life, anyway.

 

 

Joseph would probably come and bust him out. And then probably blabber more about Captain Fishface.

Call doesn't know what he would do then.

 

 

He wonders about Tamara. How she might be doing these days. Now she has the whole room to herself. Does she remember to walk Havoc? Call hopes that she does. He wouldn't want anything to happen to Havoc, now that he himself isn't there for him, he prays that the Assembly wouldn't harm his wolf. But that was just an unrealistic dream. Perhaps it's better this way: not knowing anything, at least in his mind he could pretend that everything is fine, that his wolf is happy and alive.

 

 

He doesn't think his wolf is alive.

For the first time since he became locked up, Call lets his tears fall.

 

 

Maybe his dad was right. Maybe he shouldn't have come to the Magisterium.

He thinks that Jennifer Matsui would still be alive if he didn't.

He thinks that Aaron would be too.

 

 

He has all the time in the world now, but nothing to spend it on.

 

 

Time is all he has left, and he spends his time dreaming and wondering.

 

 

On his better days, he even wonders about Jasper, if he could finally let out a breath of relief now he doesn't have to keep Call's secret anymore. Or if he was going around bragging that he knew Call was Constantine before it was revealed, and the only reason he hadn't said anything yet is because he was laying low, biding his time and waiting for the right moment.

Call dismisses the idea. No matter how their relationship had been in the past, even if they had never seen eye to eye, Jasper had never even tried to betray his secret.

Not that it matters anymore. He is probably never going to see Jasper again, or anyone, in that case, other than his guards outside the door. And the loud quietness echoing in his room.

 

 

_He's screaming. The world is drenched, soaked up in a sickly blood red, and everything is shattered, tumbling down. Nothing is real, and he is no longer there. He pants, but there's no oxygen in his lungs. He thinks he might be dying. He thinks his entire reality might have vanished._

_But no. The earth still spins. And time still goes by. And he's still breathing._

_His heart pounds loud, and there are waves crashing by his ear._

_Jericho is dead. Jericho's dead. He's dead he's dead he's dead._

_He's drowning in chaos, and his anchor broke. So he's falling, and he grasps to hold on, but there's nothing, nobody there._

He wakes up from another nightmare, and thinks that this is everything now. It's the only chance Call gets to  _see_ anything, other than eternal blackness. He cherishes it.

He's trapped within his own mind, living a life that's not his.

 

 

Call has no life left, really.

 

 

_The guards must not have lives either_ , Call muses,  _because they never leave._ Maybe in some ways, they are just like Call. Prisoners.

 

 

Are they never going to let him out?

 

 

They are never going to let him out.

 

 

He carries on.

 

 

Every morning he wakes. Except he doesn't, because there is nothing there to inform him about the time. So he wakes up, but doesn't know if the sun is shining bright above-ground, scorching the ground, or if the moon is peeking through the heavy clouds in the middle of the night.

 

 

Every day he wakes up to a false reality, and watches as the dust settle in the silence.


End file.
